Expectations
by andrastaie
Summary: Samson can't quite figure Nathra Lavellan out. Every time they interact, all his expectations of her get shattered as she shows him new sides of herself.
1. Chapter 1

"Inquisitor, is this entirely necessary?"

She didn't answer him, merely hummed as she continued about her work. Her hands skirted deftly across every inch of him. It was the same thing every day, but even then Samson could not sit patiently waiting for her to finish. He rather disliked the attention, but after the first few arguments over it, he'd mostly resigned himself to it. This elf was just frustratingly stubborn and his vocal grousing didn't change her mind in the slightest. Despite his best efforts. Samson sighed then, shaking his head and rubbing at his temples.

"Stop that." Her voice was demanding as she pushed his hands away from his head.

"Stop this, don't do that," he mocked. Tipping his head back he looked up at her as she squinted at him, lips pursed into a thin line. He leered up at her, moderately pleased with himself for drawing out such annoyance on her delicate features.

"It would go faster if you didn't fidget," she answered, finally. She slid her hand up through his thinning hair, pressing his head down again.

He grunted, but complied with her unspoken request. "If you say so," he grumbled. _My own fault anyhow_ , he reminded himself.

More poking, prodding, and otherwise unnecessary and excessive touching later, and it seemed she was finally satisfied. Or rather more placated for the time being than anything. Samson still couldn't figure why she cared. He knew what he was, what he'd done. He also saw how everyone else in Skyhold looked at him. She also knew what he'd done and who he was and yet. Yet here she was, every evening the same routine.

"I'm curious, Inquisitor," he began, leaning forward. Nathra shifted around his chair to sit across from him, brows lifted expectantly. "What purpose does this serve?" He paused, puffing out a sigh. "You shouldn't care."

Her gaze narrowed at him again and Samson ducked his head aside, avoiding it. The last time he'd asked this very same question he'd been met with silence. The two times before that, an argument had started. Samson was tired of fighting. Not when the point of it was long since gone. And yet, here he was, unable to keep his damned mouth shut.

Several long moments passed in silence. Samson chanced a look at the elf, but her expression was unreadable. More time ticked by and he shook his head. "Fine," he groused. "Keep your secrets, Elf." He offered a snort before standing up and heading for the door.

"Wait."

He stopped on command. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back and muttering a few curses under his breath. One word and he bowed to the whims of whatever crossed the mind of this woman. _Like a dog_ floated through his head a couple times and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Nothing happened. He grunted and turned around, only to see Nathra standing a few yards away shifting awkwardly in place. A complete turnaround from the confident woman who'd been fussing at him moment ago. Samson tipped his head in curiosity, for the life of him he could not figure the Inquisitor out. Chief among them being how she commanded legions of the faithful… and what on Thedas convinced her he was worth two shits.

"I told you why I care," she finally replied.

He chuckled, shaking his head. The sound felt awkward on his lips, strained. Her words were not funny and yet he couldn't restrain the knee-jerk reaction. The want to dismiss the pity he despised so strongly.

"I care about your well being," she protested. "Is that so bad?"

"I don't need your pity, _Inquisitor_ ," he growled.

"I offer none," she snapped back. Her confidence returned as she tilted her head back indignantly at him.

"Then what is this?" he countered. Samson advanced, stopping only when he was within arms reach of the small elf. She kept her eyes trained on him, unflinching with head still held high as she looked down her nose at him.

The more they stared at each other, the more Samson began to notice something _different_. Odd and strange. _Maker's balls I must be seeing things_. With her tanned skin it was a challenge to tell for certain, but Samson could swear the color on her cheeks was changing. A dark red, if anything were indeed there. Before he could decide, he turned away sharply and walked to the balcony.

"You're not what I expected," he commented, hearing her soft footsteps behind him. Samson leaned forward on the balcony, looking down at the empty expanse of white snow below.

"Why can I not tell if that's good or bad?" she asked. There was an airy giggle to her tone as she came up beside him, curling her fingers around the stone of the top rail.

"When I figure it out, perhaps I'll let you know." Samson shrugged, puffing out a steady breath into the crisp air.

"Come inside, let me call up some water so we can wash your hair." She changed gears abruptly, peering at him expectantly.

Samson sputtered, looking at her with wide eyes. "Is that an order?" he asked with mild suspicion.

"Does it have to be?"


	2. Chapter 2

Quite a few commands later, and Samson heard the Inquisitor beckoning him in from the balcony. He sucked in a slow breath, lingering before he followed like a Maker-damned dog. It hadn't taken long, he noted, for the servants to fill the stone tub. As he stepped through the doorway into the room, Nathra was using a fire spell to warm the water. His brows arched slightly, but he said nothing. There were times still that he nearly forgot the elf was a mage.

She spun about as he entered and flashed a toothy grin his way. Samson's eyes were drawn to her ears as they twitched just so when she looked at him. He filed a few ideas on that away for later as he strode closer to her.

"Strip," she ordered.

Samson chortled, barely stopping in front of her before she was making demands _again_. He recovered himself quickly enough, however, leering at her in return.

"Quite eager, aren't you, Inquisitor?" He wasn't hesitating now, however, pulling articles of clothing off and tossing them aside to the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. Only before reaching his smalls did he pause, glancing up at Nathra to see that same _oddity_ as before. This time… this time there could be little doubt she was, in fact, blushing. Such a notion only egged Samson on as he flashed her a near-wicked grin, wriggling out of his smalls and tossing them aside.

He all but glided across the room then, sinking into the warmed water without prompt. It felt, well shit, it felt _really_ damn good. Samson's eyes slipped closed as he sunk lower in the tub, head leaned back and reveling in the warmth that enveloped his whole body. The aches and pains of the day, the unpleasantness from being poked and prodded and tested all day, even the mental strain of Cullen's daily interrogation began to slide away.

Nathra had, it seemed, composed herself in the time it took him to get comfortable. Samson could hear the light scrape of a chair as it got dragged over to the tub. The slight creak when she seated herself, and the warm presence of her body near the top of his head. Opening his eyes and tipping his gaze upward, he flashed her a toothy smirk.

"Was I not supposed to be serving _you_?"

She snorted, gesturing for him to wet his hair as she snatched a nearby bar of soap. With a huff and roll of his eyes, Samson complied. A small twinge of magic tweaked his senses, and Samson tensed when her hands slid across his scalp. Until the waves of healing magic extended downward and throughout his body. A shuddering sigh escaped his lips, much against his will.

The magic soon stopped, but Samson rumbled deep within his chest in approval as she continued to massage his scalp. The soap was, too, gone, but Nathra had continued with her languid massaging strokes. He swore he could hear a giggle, but ignored it as he savored the sensation of her hands.

Eventually she stopped, insisting he was fully capable of washing the rest of himself while she went to find a towel. He snorted, leering at her once more. "You seemed plenty eager to help, Inquisitor, shouldn't you finish the job?" The bar of soap splashed into the water as she halfheartedly threw it at him. Samson chuckled briefly, before sighing and resigning himself, once again, to complying to her demands.

While she was gone, Samson considered his options. For all his grousing, the situation Nathra had set him up with was not a bad one. Any other prisoner might be kissing the ground she walked upon given a day in his shoes. And yet. An irritating itch in the back of his mind told him he didn't deserve this. If he was never good enough for the Chantry, why would he be good enough for the Maker-damned _Herald of Andraste_. Why him? Why? The ideas floated around in his head until she returned, a couple towels in hand.

Samson had only half halfheartedly bothered cleaning the rest of his body. Too distracted in mind to even focus. Or care, for that matter. He stood when she offered one of the towels to him. He didn't move for it right away, though, taking a moment to watch her with great interest. The subtle blush had returned, the twitching in her ears. Samson all but purred as things clicked into place in his head. He was, perhaps, out of touch, but he was most certainly not stupid.

He took one step out from the tub, a lecherous grin snaking up his lips; curling them upward in an agonizingly slow pace. He offered her as little time as possible to prepare, reaching out a hand as if for the towel. Yet instead he snagged her waist. With only a small grunt and minimal effort, he pulled her back into the tub with him. The splash nearly drowned out the odd noise that she emitted, caught somewhere between a shriek and a high pitched giggle.

The air was forced from his lungs a moment when she crashed against his chest in the water. Still Samson managed to recover first as he shifted his arm to a more comfortable position about her torso. To only his slight chagrin, she offered no struggle once they were settled in the water. Overall, he still was pleased with himself, grinning as he leaned close to her right ear.

"Is this not what you hoped for when you offered?" He breathed slowly, amused to see her ears twitch in response to his warm breath on their sensitive tips. Samson could feel her unsteady breathing, the awkward quiver of her body when he curled his fingers up under her tunic. And he reveled in it. The why was slowly beginning to make more sense. He could feel when she took a few steadying breaths, slow and deep as the quivering eased.

Nathra hummed, a question in the underlying tone of it. Samson opened his mouth to question her again, press her further, when she began to wiggle her hips. He hissed, relenting in his hold of her after a few more well placed shifts in her position. _Andraste's flaming ass_.

The departure of the warmth of her body against his chest left a void. He squinted up at her, watching as she struggled to divest herself of her sopping wet clothes. Only when he realized this to be her goal did Samson grin and offer his assistance. With effort from both parties now, she was eventually naked herself, sliding back into the water and leaning on his chest.

"You never cease to surprise me," he commented.

A grin curled up her lips as she tilted her head to look up at him. "Still not what you expected?"

Samson chuckled, winding his hands up her body. She gasped against him when he cupped her breasts and he smirked. But she quickly retaliated by wriggling her hips against him again. He groaned at the attention, a low and gravelly sound that started more akin to a growl at the back of his throat.

"No," he finally answered. Only able to compose his voice once she stopped.

"Good or bad?" She twisted her upper body enough to look at him clearly. Samson shrugged and pulled her close to capture her lips with his own.

Several long moments passed until he broke the kiss, staring intently at Nathra until one side of his mouth quirked upward. What did he care anymore? She'd offered him a second chance - something his own kind had never done - and perhaps it was time to stop wallowing in what was past. Clearly she didn't.

"Does it matter?"


End file.
